


Suspicious Minds

by JantoPhi21



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Mycroft, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Betrayal, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Imprisonment, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Not Between John and Mycroft, Omega!John, Rimming, Switching, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoPhi21/pseuds/JantoPhi21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s demeanor was getting more questionable by the minute. Perhaps the advanced background checks were not enough. Had John’s records been altered? Who exactly was living with his younger brother? He’d relied on his associates to check into John Watson, and he believed them to have done a thorough job. Perhaps not thorough enough. He needed to get back to the office. Perhaps he needed to have John detained. John concerned him, and his instincts were so rarely wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft chose his outfit with care. Over the few years John Watson had lived with Sherlock, Mycroft had plenty of opportunities to see which of his suits caught John’s eyes the most. He needed to play his cards subtly, and he felt confident he could. But John Watson could be an unpredictable man at times, hence Sherlock’s fondness of him, but Mycroft rather hoped he could convince John to his way of thinking.

Mycroft had been - not watching, per se - but carefully monitoring John’s associates to ensure none of them might be a danger to Sherlock. It had taken longer than he’d like to admit to realize that one association he should have expected, was missing. John Watson, a viable omega with regular heats, had yet, in the entire time Mycroft knew him, share his heat with an alpha.

With clockwork consistency, Sherlock took cases out of the city, and John barricaded himself in the flat for four days. At John’s age, and unbonded, Mycroft held a great deal of respect for his ability to withstand that sort of biological torture.

Today was three days before John’s next heat was to begin. Mycroft hoped to see if he could help alleviate John’s discomfort as a trustworthy alpha, but needed to ask before the pheromones could potentially influence his consent.

He snapped on his watch, and looked in the mirror. Yes, John was very fond of this look. It should do nicely.

-o-

John was sitting his chair, reading. It was a quiet evening, for once, baring Sherlock blowing something up in the kitchen as he puttered with his latest experiment. John shifted a bit, aware of the oncoming onslaught of biology. His body had always been maddeningly predictable, even under stress or in a warzone. He already knew Sherlock had things lined up and would be leaving in the next few days. Neither of them had discussed it, but there was no need to do so.

Footsteps on the stairs caught his attention and he raised his head. The door was open and Mycroft appeared a few moments later, umbrella in hand and suit impeccable as always. John was well aware the man was an alpha, and a powerful one. Dangerous in perhaps more than one way. The suit fit him perfectly, not a hair out of place.

John carefully acted like Mycroft popped up all the time. “Evening, Mycroft. Sherlock’s in the kitchen.”

Mycroft took in the mess Sherlock was making and responded dryly, “So I see.” He looked back to John. The man was reading a newspaper, despite their increasing antiquity, and he was dressed in jeans and a jumper, his standard fare. Though Sherlock often joked about the jumpers, Mycroft rather liked them; it gave John a ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ facade, and that appealed to him deeply.

Catching John’s eye, he offered, “You can’t possibly be considered to make supper amidst that-” Mycroft sought out the right word, “-debacle. Would you care for a respite from his experiments for a few hours? I’ve got a few items which could benefit from your expertise.”

John raised an eyebrow. It sounded suspiciously similar to a date, or at least as much like a date as a Holmes would offer. He glanced towards the kitchen, finding Sherlock glaring at his brother, but apparently too busy with what he was doing to stop and give a proper rebuttal. And something was starting to reek.

“Fine,” he said, folding the newspaper up properly and dropping it on the table. “Try not to blow up the flat while I’m gone,” he told Sherlock, grabbing his coat before he could change his mind.

Mycroft smiled, but kept it cordial, and led John to the black car waiting outside. “I’ve got a small room reserved above a Thai restaurant, where we could work and eat, if Thai is acceptable to you?”

“No complaints here. What kind of work do you have?” John deliberately made sure there was space between the two of them in the car, trying to ignore the mouth-watering scent in the tight confines. He’d always had control of his biology, that wasn’t going to change just because Mycroft Holmes came around in an amazing suit.

“I have a high ranking general and an influential politician both trying to sway my opinion on- well, let’s just say it is an English military base in an Asian country. Though I know you haven’t been in this specific country, neither of these two have even been in Asia, and I would respect your opinion as a soldier with actual experience on the ground in the last several years. The general hasn’t seen the outside of an office in fifteen years.” Mycroft pulled out the file from his briefcase, at least an inch thick. “I’ve made sure the documents here are declassified, so you are welcome to look through them later.

The car stopped, and Mycroft looked up, tucking the file back. He wasn’t lying, his interest in John’s opinion was legitimate. Granted, any clever, recently deployed soldier would have also provided the necessary vantage point, but who was he to turn down a such a beautifully orchestrated event?

“Ah, but let’s head up the stairs and order first, shall we?” Mycroft waited for his driver to open the door before climbing out.

“All right.” John got the door for him, as was polite. They both ordered their food and soon enough they were heading up the stairs to the private room.

The room was large enough for an oval conference table, and could perhaps seat eight people comfortably. There was a long table against the far the wall for catering when Mycroft was hosting day long, or worse, days long meetings. He took a seat, not at the head of the table as he usually did, but the one that set his back directly against the door, so that John could take a seat of his choosing, including one with a clear and comfortable view of the door.

“I’ve taken a liking to their Pad Thai,” Mycroft said, referring to his own order. “My mother always instructed us to try some new when we ate out, but there are some places where I simply cannot follow her advice.”

“Makes sense, it’s what comfortable.” John sat where he could watch the door, somewhat surprised Mycroft would sit with his back to it. “May I see these files?”

“Straight to business,” Mycroft nodded approvingly, pulling the folder out of his briefcase. The documents were dense and complex, and while he was sure that with adequate time John could make sense of them, he imagined it might be a bit much to cover before their dinner had arrived. However, he couldn’t hide his smile at John’s incentive. No wonder he was so very well admired by his colleagues, peers, and superiors.

The paperwork was a bit complicated, but John was used to following Sherlock’s line of thinking and he had to be able to understand things without much time. So by the time their food arrived he had pretty well sussed out what he needed to know and offered his opinion to Mycroft as soon as the man who delivered their food had vanished.

Mycroft frowned, but started in on his meal while he thought. The rapidity with which John offered his opinion concerned him; he wasn’t sure if there details of John’s service he’d yet to uncover, or if John had acquired access to classified documents. Perhaps his time at Baskerville wasn’t strictly related to keeping Sherlock in as little trouble as possible. Either way, he’d need to dig deeper into John’s file.

He put on a civil smile, and began again with small talk. “Are you enjoying your meal?”

“Quite. You do have excellent taste.” He could tell he’d unsettled Mycroft. Good.

John’s demeanor was getting more questionable by the minute. Perhaps the advanced background checks were not enough. Had John’s records been altered? Who exactly was living with his younger brother? He’d relied on his associates to check into John Watson, and he believed them to have done a thorough job. Perhaps not thorough enough. He needed to get back to the office. Perhaps he needed to have John detained. John concerned him, and his instincts were so rarely wrong.

He ate perhaps a quarter of his meal, then put down his fork and patted his mouth with his napkin. “Well, John,” he announced, “You’ve been far more help than I’d expected. I suppose it’s time for me to head back and discuss this information with the general. Stay as long as you need, order anything you wish; the staff will take good care of you.” He stood, picking up his briefcase. “Thank you for your services this evening.”

“Not going to finish?” he asked.

“I certainly don’t need more spiteful comments from Sherlock, now do I?” Mycroft answered inscrutably. “However, I do have a need to get back to my office. Have a nice evening, Dr. Watson.”

John nodded. “Thanks for having me,” he said politely.

“It was very enlightening,” Mycroft acquiesced. He exited the room with a nod, and once he was sure he was out of hearing range, he called Anthea.

“We’ve missed something regarding John Watson. Detain him when he leaves the building. Keep him comfortable, but locked down.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied simply, and hung up.

Mycroft fumed. He was well aware John Watson was an intelligent man; though many of his associates considered him to be less so, as they always compared him to Sherlock. But Mycroft had no such blindness, and John simply should not have been able to flip through 100 pages of half redacted material in under thirty minutes and provide an eloquent response to a question Mycroft had yet to ask.

John finished eating and headed downstairs. He was unsurprised to find a car waiting for him and got in. What was far more surprising was when they were clearly heading deeper into London. “Where are we going?” he asked, only to have a gun drawn on him. “Really?” he sighed. “That’s not necessary you know.”

“One takes precautions when one doesn’t know who he is dealing with,” the man in the suit said, sitting far across from him, to keep the gun out of John’s reach. He tossed John a pair of handcuffs. “I do believe you know how this works?”

John rolled his eyes. “Mycroft’s known me for years,” he grumbled.

“The cuffs, Dr. Watson.”

John shook head and got them on. “Better?”

“Thank you. You should note that your seatbelt serves as a restraint as well, and cannot be undone or loosened without the proper security protocols.” The man’s face held no expression, as he hit a button by his own seat, and two straps tightened over John’s shins to keep his legs in place as well. “You should try and stay comfortable. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”

“This is ridiculous,” muttered John, but not like he had much choice at this point. He just hoped this was Mycroft’s people’s doing and it would all get straightened out sooner rather than later.

The ride took nearly an hour. When the vehicle stopped and the engine turned off, the man in the suit looked to John.

“I apologize for this,” he announced, though he didn’t look the slightest bit remorseful. He raised his gun, and fired. He watched as his captive passed out under the influence of the heavy tranquilizer, then knocked on the window, letting the security outside know it was safe to open the doors and remove Dr. Watson.

-o-

Anthea pressed the button for the comm in Dr. Watson’s cell. She’d been checking in every quarter hour to see if he’d woken up. The video screen showed him lying supine on the bed as they’d left him, and she spoke into the microphone, “Dr. Watson, are you awake?”

John groaned and wiped his eyes. He sat up and realized he was in a bare cell of a room. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, recognizing Anthea’s voice and looking towards the camera in a corner of the room. There was a little bit of fear in the pit of his stomach, but he resolutely ignored it.

“I’d like to provide you with a few comforts during your stay,” Anthea ignored his question. “Please let us know if the blankets are enough to keep you warm, or if you’ll need others. The toilet is through the open door. I apologize for the starkness of the room, but we do find that cinder block is typically one of the better materials for a holding cell. Well, for the cells of people whose comfort we care about. May I deliver you some books to help pass the time?”

“I suppose,” he grumbled, feeling something else inside. Heat was very close now. He wondered how long he’d been out. Sherlock must be going out of his mind. “Is Sherlock okay? And Mycroft?”

“Sherlock? Why-” Anthea paused, “Oh, I _see_. No, Sherlock is quite fine, Dr. Watson, and I expect that once he’s discovered exactly what it was you’ve been hiding in your background, Mycroft will be down to speak with you.”

“Hiding? I’m not hiding anything. He’s the British Government, doesn’t he have all my records anyway?” John didn’t expect a response as he went to use the loo.

Mycroft watched the exchange with a skeptical eye. John was far too comfortable, far too relaxed. Even when he first met John in the warehouse, he’d shown some nerves, some discomfort. But this? There was clearly something in John’s past that made him nearly ambivalent about being imprisoned. The records Mycroft had on him didn’t suggest he spent anytime as a prisoner of war, but perhaps Mycroft hadn’t reviewed his young adulthood nearly close enough. He stalked out of the room, leaving Anthea to keep an eye on John.

John finished using the loo and, when he stepped out, found a few books and journals. At least this was better then when Dad would lock him in his room for days on end. And other things he’d done his best to forget. He did trust that Mycroft would get whatever this was sorted out; that was the only thing keeping him calm, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he had nightmares. He was still tired from whatever they drugged him with and dropped asleep a few minutes later with a book on his chest.

-o-

Mycroft sat in the control room, waiting for John to wake up. He’d opened the venting between their rooms, allowing his scent to filter into John. While he knew there was no way he’d be sharing John’s heat, (not after this, John would hate him, provided what Mycroft found allowed him to live), he knew that John’s pheromones may betray him, making it harder to lie and potentially more compliant. It was a long shot in someone as tightly controlled as John Watson, but Mycroft was willing to go to almost any lengths to figure out exactly what the man was hiding.

John jerked awake, flinching, then doubled over with a groan. His heat was almost on him, and that amazing scent… He raised his head. “Mycroft?” he asked aloud.

“Good morning, Dr. Watson. Did you rest comfortably?” Mycroft spoke through the comm.

“Not really. You… you’re keeping me here, aren’t you?” His heart sunk and once again he’d wondered what he’d done.

“Do you need blankets? I do wish for you to remain comfortable; I have no desire to cause you any undue harm.” Mycroft watched John on the screen, and could see the sweat beading at his temples. He did regret not getting the chance to share John’s heat with him; he’d been fond of John for months now, and the offer he’d hoped to make at dinner was not one born entirely out of altruism.

“Undue harm,” John snorted, rubbing his face in his hands. “You know I’m about to go into heat. I just don’t understand why, Mycroft.” He knew his tone had turned a bit plaintive. “You’ve known me a long time, what did I do to you? To Sherlock?”

“Whilst I know it will be unpleasant to experience your heat; you’ve attended alone to your heat for years; I’m not sure how this will be any different,” Mycroft answered. “As for what you’ve done, it’s less of what you’ve done than what you’ve hidden from me. Until I can be assured you are not a risk to Sherlock, that you are not a plant, part of a sleeper cell, any risk whatsoever, you will stay here.”

“What the _fuck_ , Mycroft,” John growled, then groaned again. He rolled onto his stomach and pulled the blankets up for some semblance of privacy, though it would be obvious what he was doing. “I have never done anything but taken care of Sherlock the best I can. I… why now? was it the papers? Was that some kind of test?” He shimmied his trousers off. The blankets were rough against his skin but damn if he was going to give Mycroft the satisfaction of watching him jerk off.

“Don’t worry about Sherlock; he believes you to be on a month-long fellowship in the States. You’ve been texting him regular updates, and he found several documents in your flat to that effect when he decided to inspect your claims. He is decidedly cross that his blogger is halfway around the world, but he is assured of your safety.” Mycroft tried to ignore what John was most certainly doing and failing. He could feel his own body flush with a wave of hormones; and he turned from the monitors.

“As to the papers,” Mycroft continued, with a gulp, thinly disguising the want in his voice, “They were not a test of any sort. If anything they were meant to be a distraction; I had other thoughts for that evening’s conversation. But yes, it caused alarm when you glanced at nearly a hundred pages of half redacted confidential information, ten pages of which were written in Cantonese, and gave your opinion on the matter without waiting for me to ask you a question. And doing so in the time it took for us to get our meal? Yes, I can say that arose great suspicion. I’m not even sure Sherlock could have done that. And now I find myself in the difficult position of not knowing who my brother has been living with.”

Mycroft snuck a look at the cameras, and regretted it instantly.

John glanced at the camera before burying his face against the pillows. He wondered if the betrayal he felt was showing. And to think he’d been considering asking Mycroft out, even if Sherlock would have scoffed at him. “Christ, Mycroft,” he muttered. “I didn’t read every word. I only know a few words of Cantonese. I got the jist of what they said and offered my opinion based on that. If you’d asked me anything you’d have realized I didn’t actually read all of it. I’m a doctor and a soldier. I get handed complex material all the time I have to act on quickly.” He swore and pressed his fingers inside himself, fighting tears. He felt weak, vulnerable. He hated this, hated that Mycroft was probably watching him, blanket or not. He knew before too much longer he’d lose all ability to speak, to do much more then rut. He wouldn’t care then who was watching.

Mycroft bristled, “Its unusual, Dr. Watson, for someone to treat me as if I were the fool. I am well aware you are an intelligent man. Far more intelligent than others may give you credit for. But I will not take ‘skimmed and guessed’ as gospel truth.”

He sighed, and turned the monitors off. Anthea could check on John periodically, but he couldn’t stand it. His whole body was warm, his cock stiffly trapped his trousers. He imagined his scent and his interest must be more than evident to John through the vents. He spoke through the comm, “The monitors are off, Dr. Watson, but my staff may check on you periodically. I may be skeptical of your handling of those documents, but I’m am entirely confident that you are a very skilled tactician, and I can’t risk your escape.”

“Sod off,” growled John, tears stinging his eyes. He felt utterly humiliated in a way he hadn’t in a very long time and he knew his voice had cracked, not delivering the sting he’d intended. And he could smell the alpha’s arousal, just adding insult to injury. Mycroft should be sharing his heat, not accusing him of God knew what. Even now, if Mycroft walked through the door, he knew he’d willingly submit.

Mycroft signaled for Anthea to come down. She was a beta, and would be unaffected by John and his needs. He closed the vent between the two rooms, and waited until she arrived before making it to his makeshift office. He hated himself for this, but the last time he’d ignored his instinct about an acquaintance of Sherlock’s, Wilkes had gotten his brother addicted hard, and it took years to rectify his mistake. Wilkes found himself getting audited and heavily taxed yearly. It gave Mycroft great pleasure that despite his high rise office, Wilkes was heavily in debt, any serious relationships sabotaged, and man himself was miserable, cursing his bad luck, according to his therapist’s notes.

He liked John. And the sooner he could figure out what was going on, the sooner John could be handled appropriately. Either way, he couldn’t imagine that Sherlock would talk to him again. He was sick to his stomach, and so he sat in front of his computer, switching between the monitors for any discrepancy. 


	2. Chapter 2

It took four hours of pouring over John’s records, but Mycroft found something. He wasn’t quite sure what it was yet, and he hurried down the stairs to ask John before he fell too deep into his heat. It was that, or wait three days until he would be coherent again.

He opened the vent, and flipped on the comm, keeping the monitors off.

“John, where were you when you were 19 and 20?” Mycroft demanded.

John opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling with a frown. Of course Mycroft would find that. “Dad sent me to Australia, a rancher he knew somehow. Worked there until I managed to get accepted to Uni.” He shuddered at the memories of being with that man on a remote ranch. The slight quiver in his voice wasn’t just the heat. “Tom Wilson.”

“Why do your records state you were at university? Why did you lie about it? Who fixed your records?” Mycroft asked with increasing severity. There were no records that John Watson had left the country before joining the military.

John glared at the camera, though he knew it was off. “Because I never wanted to remember. Because that never happened to me. My CO fixed it for me when I told him the truth of the matter. For fucks sake Mycroft, don’t make me remember it.”

“There is no possible way for your CO to have fixed the records so cleanly. I’m not a stupid man, John, I know you obviously experienced some sort of trauma at the time. But it should not have been possible for it to be erased. And even less possible for it to be replaced with records from a university whose campus you wouldn’t set foot on for years,” Mycroft’s concern was growing rapidly. If what John said was what he thought was the truth, then there was a connection with the Australian and the CO, and with someone talented enough to change the records almost imperceptibly. He need as much information as he could get from John.

“The name of your CO?” Mycroft demanded, sitting down at the monitors, and switching it to read from the computer instead of the camera feed before turning it on. He began to look deep into his databases.

John felt rising panic as Mycroft’s questions brought up things he’d buried a long, long time ago. With a groan he dropped from the bed to the floor, dragging a blanket with him as he pressed into the corner, fighting the memories that were trying to drown him.

“John? John?” Mycroft tried to get a response, and when he didn’t, he turned to Anthea. She flipped up the camera feed, and turned it towards him. “Shit.”

He stood, and took off his jacket. “You know the rules,” he said to Anthea, referring to the same rules they had whenever he went into a holding cell. “If you hear any names, get them all,” he told her. He tucked a scent filter into his nose, and opened the outer door to where John was held. When it was secure behind him, he open the door to John’s room, and closed it. Once he heard the lock engage, he spoke to John from a distance.

“John,” Mycroft kept his voice soft and mildly high pitched. “John, I need for you to focus.”

John was shaking and he flinched as he smelled the alpha. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said automatically, though he didn’t even know what he’d done wrong this time.

“It’s Mycroft. You are angry with me. I have upset you. Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock’s brother,” he reminded John. Even John’s ire would be better right now than this, but he didn’t want to push too hard.

John blinked and slowly focused on the alpha across the room. “I thought I was safe with you,” he said in a soft voice. “I’m not though, am I? Not with any alpha.” He was slowly getting his wits back together. “Are you going to fuck me too?”

“No, John. And being an alpha has nothing to do with it. My only job is to keep Sherlock safe. And now I’m worried that you’ve been compromised, though I’m not sure it was your doing. I need you to focus. What was the name of your CO, the one who told you he’d fixed your records?” Mycroft stayed at the far side of the room, breathing only through the filter to keep himself in control.

“I wanted you too, you know. I was hoping you’d ask about my heat when you asked me out. Timing and all.” John wrapped his arms around his knees. “I know I’m too dirty for all that and you’re gonna see what all happened. Then you’ll want me far away anyway.”

He rocked back and forth and quietly told him the name. “I hoped I could get over it, that I might be good enough. But I’m not.”

“It’s why I’d asked you to dinner,” Mycroft sighed, “I know you feel I’ve betrayed you. But I’m going to find out why your records were changed.” Now that he had the name, he made his way to the door, trying to keep far from John, to appear non-threatening. “Can I get you anything? Anthea can fetch it for you; she’s a beta.”

John shook his head. "I wanted you. But that won't happen now."

“I know.” Mycroft answered regretfully. Mycroft opened the door to leave, “Unfortunately, protecting Sherlock has its costs. I apologise for what it has cost you. The monitors will remain off, although Anthea will be listening over the intercom, should you need anything.”

"I mean you won't want me, when you know what happened," said John, shuddering at a wave of heat, but otherwise unmoving.

Mycroft was beginning to see a picture forming, and it was full of terrible things that John had endured. He was sure his fears would be confirmed as he searched the data, and he turned back to John.

“John, I cannot imagine what you have been through. But do know, the only thing that would keep me from you, is you. You are in control. If you ever chose to forgive me, if you ever could bear to see my face again, then I would be there for you.” Mycroft sighed, “Once I can assure Sherlock’s safety, and yours, you never have to see me again, should you choose.”

"Tell me that after you see what was done, and perhaps I'll believe you." John rubbed his face.

-o-

Once Mycroft had a better idea of what he was looking for, it only took him a few hours to find the connection between the man in Australia and John’s CO. The man in Australia, Terry Horgan, who went by a slew of aliases, one of which was the Tom Wilson name John had given, was not so much as a ‘rancher’ but the keeper of an omega breeding farm. Mycroft felt sick. Even if he had to detain John, this quite possibly was the worst way to have done it. Better to have tied him to a chair in a warehouse.

The CO, Jeffrey Milligan, was one of several plants in a variety of fields, where the plant would gain the trust of the omega, and offer to have the records erased to help “ease their suffering” and so that “no one would ever have to know.” Of course, the primary goal was to erase any records of the omegas’ disappearances, and effectively make the dozen or so breeding camps, virtually undetectable electronically.

He pressed a comm to open the line to Anthea, “Secure the roof garden, then bring John there. Take anything with him that he needs to be comfortable. Ensure there is no possible way for him to jump, and that no alpha security comes within 40 yards of him.”

He closed the line without waiting for more; he trusted well that she’d do as he asked. John was currently in no state to fight her, let alone get out of the building. In fact, it was likely that he was fairly compliant, and would do as she told him. He only hoped the drastic change in setting, to a cloudy English garden, would serve as a striking, obvious contrast to any of the painful memories he’d had in Australia.

-o-

It was sometime later that John realized the worst of his heat had passed. He groaned and rolled to a seat, realising he was in a garden. There was still a high fence, and he was no doubt still a prisoner, but someone had made sure he'd been moved here, given fresh air. He got to his feet and pulled on the fresh clothes that had been left in the little shelter. He stepped into the light rain and scrubbed his scruffy cheeks.

Mycroft knew. He remembered that much. Now he waited to see if he'd be banished.

A few minutes later, a knock at the door came, and to John’s great surprise, Sherlock stepped out from behind the door.

"What are you doing here?" John asked, wrapping his arms around himself.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Mycroft called. Said while you were helping him bring down an international omega breeding ring, you’d gone into heat. Supposedly he took you here to keep you from unwanted alpha attention. Although, based on his reluctance to see you home himself, I find it far more likely that he brought you here to bed you and you turned him down.”

He looked around at the garden, “Could do worse, I suppose. Are you ready to come home now? Or do you need some more time to… do whatever it is you do?”

"I'd like to talk to Mycroft before we go." Had Mycroft actually done it? It almost seemed like too much to believe.

Sherlock frowned, “If you must, I suppose. He’s resting, he’d been up for nearly sixty two hours until the bust was carried out, then nearly collapsed. Anthea had to drag him to his room. He woke a bit to call me and he was asleep again before I arrived. Lazy git.”

Sherlock held the stairs open for John and followed him down. After a few flights of stairs, he said, “The door to your right opens to his corridor. His is the third door on the left. I’ll meet you downstairs?”

"Okay."

John followed Sherlock's direction and found himself staring at Mycroft's door. Taking a breath, he knocked and pushed the door open. He smiled at the sight of Mycroft snoring softly. Closing the door behind him, he crossed the room, looked down at Mycroft, then leaned in to kiss his forehead. "Thank you."

Mycroft jumped nearly half a foot, knocking against John’s head. He scrambled back to the headboard, then took a deep breath, transforming his panicked looked to one of composure and poise in an instant. “Hello John. Did the garden suit your needs?”

John rubbed his head. "Sorry I startled you."

“It’s fine. I deserve far worse, I know. Sherlock should be here shortly to pick you up, I figure you have likely seen more of me than you shall ever want to again.” Mycroft’s face fell slightly and he looked away. “I can have Anthea attend to you until he arrives.”

"Sherlock is here. I wanted to see you." He sat on the edge of the bed and took Mycroft's hand. "You took them down?"

Mycroft’s eyes grew wide for a moment, and he felt his heart pick up speed. “I merely orchestrated the means by which to do so. These barbarians have relied on the confusion between the varying jurisdictions, judicial systems, and international lines. As I have no such concerns, I was able to join the efforts of several countries together, and at the same time. It is quite effective to take down the same criminal cell in sixteen countries at the exact same minute. Leaves little room for resurgence abilities.”

He looked at his hand in John’s and spoke quietly, “I have some specific information that might interest you, if you would like.”

"Please."

“Your CO. He was part of the network. His offer to erase your records was to keep the prisons they kept you in off the electronic records. I learned that he was the one who taught you to skim the reports like you did. It saved your life, you know. He was supposed to have you killed for reading classified materials, but you were a quick learner. He found that he didn’t want to sacrifice your contributions; he rose to power on your successful interpretations, so he let you live.”

Mycroft looked at the wall and continued, “You can tell me to stop at any time. Your CO was killed in prison yesterday, when the inmates learned the extent of his crimes. The man you knew as Tom Wilson died in a stand-off with the Australian police. The records he kept were confiscated, but I was able to obtain yours before the information could be entered into evidence. The file should arrive tomorrow, at Baker Street. It will be up to you whether you wish it to be part of the case, or burned to ashes.

“I have not told Sherlock of your specific involvement of the case. But should you wish to keep the file, I can keep it safe for you, away from his prying. If there are details you should wish me to explore, I can do that as well. Or you can choose to never speak to me again.”

"Did you read my records?" John asked softly.

“No. It is not my business to know that level of detail. I know Sherlock often acts as though I have absolutely no regard for privacy, but I understand where the line of safety ends, and privacy begins.”

"I would ask one favor, then. One thing. I had one pup before I escaped. I was forced to leave them behind."

“What would you like to know?”

"If they're alive. And if so, are they safe? I doubt they'd want anything to do with me."

“I will look into it. Bring me your records when they arrive? You can hand me only the relevant pages if you wish, or you can give me the whole thing to hide away or destroy. But John-” Mycroft brought his hand to John’s chin, lifting his head up slightly so that John gazed into his eyes. “You are valuable beyond measure. I hope that some day, you find someone who properly deserves you, and can convince you of that.”

John swallowed. "I hope you know that I would chose you. Despite everything, you had only Sherlock's interests in mind. Then mine. And you've quelled a great evil."

Mycroft closed his eyes, hardly believing John could forgive him. “John, I must ask you to think on it. I have betrayed you this week, forcing cruel and unnecessary memories onto you. I need to know that you’ve given that your full consideration. But should you come to me, and offer to share your next heat, do know that I would not refuse you.” He lifted John’s hand to his lips and offered a chaste kiss to his knuckles.

John gave him a soft smile. "Thank you. I'll send the records."

Mycroft walked him to the door of his room, and John pointed to the staircase he and Sherlock had taken from the roof. Mycroft nodded, and gave him directions to the front door. He apologised for not showing John out, but he was still in his pyjamas and had some sense of propriety. He watched John as he walked away, and a wave of exhaustion rushed over him again. He made it back to his bed, and promptly fell back asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

John settled back at Baker Street, barely looking at the files before sending them all to Mycroft. He picked up his life again and tried to put the past behind. If there were a few more nightmares, they weren't spoken of. He’d put a note on the files that it was fine for Mycroft to read them. And he wondered if his pup had even survived. They’d be nearly twenty now. Leaving the infant behind was his one regret, but he had to take the chance to escape when he’d had it. There had been no other alphas since then, certainly no other pups. He’d slept with Milligan once, since the man was a beta, after a night of heavy drinking, but otherwise their relationship had been professional. Milligan’d been disappointed when John had been shipped to another part of Afghanistan, but had accepted it. John supposed he’d finished his usefulness and going to where the fighting was heavier upped his chances of getting killed. It nearly worked.

Still, even as John fell back into the routines of his current life, he waited for Mycroft to call with news.

The call came four days later; and wasn’t a call at all. It was a text, and a simple one at that. <Let me know when you are available to discuss your request. I will send a car. MH>

Mycroft didn’t prefer to text, but he was concerned that John might try to wheedle information out of him over the phone, and while it wasn’t bad news, it certainly wasn’t the type of news to deliver over any medium other than face to face.

He hadn’t read the rest of the file yet. He’d seen John’s note, but there was a clear difference between ‘you can if you want’ and ‘I’d like you to know and understand.’ He’d wait for John to define the difference for him.

John waited for Sherlock to be busy, then texted Mycroft to meet. He hid his nerves as he got into the car. “No handcuffs this time, right?” he asked with a tight smile.

Mycroft smiled sadly, wishing John hadn’t any reason to doubt him, yet understanding completely why he might. “No handcuffs,” he confirmed. He looked to John, “I’m having us brought to my home, where we can be assured of complete privacy, if that is acceptable to you?”

“That’s fine,” said John, looking at Mycroft another moment, then out the window. The alpha was still gorgeous, still delectable, but John found himself wary all the same. He knew Mycroft had only acted in Sherlock’s interest, and then his own, but he needed something beyond that. John was willing to try, to perhaps learn to trust him again, but he found those dark memories hovering closer, just by being in Mycroft’s presence. He squeezed his hand in a fist and tried to calm himself.

The ride was quiet and Mycroft could sense the apprehension rolling off John in waves. Not that he could blame him. Mycroft resolved to stay as far away as necessary. Knowing even just the basics of John’s history, any steps that brought them closer together would have to be taken by John and John alone. Mycroft had nearly burned the bridge between them; John would have to decide if it were worth traversing the charred remains to rebuild. 

The car rolled into a garage, and up to a lift. Mycroft turned to John, “My flat is just at the top of the lift. Shall we?”

“Of course.” John breathed him in as the lift moved, and examined his own feelings (something he did tend to avoid). The scent of Mycroft didn’t send him into a panic. That was a good sign. He knew that once Mycroft realised the circumstances he must have had him moved to the garden. Another point in his favor. And no one had taken advantage of him in his heat. John studied the lift buttons. “What about you, Mycroft? Never any omegas in your life?”

Mycroft laughed, “You’ve met me. You’ve met Sherlock. How many omegas do you think have had the slightest bit of interest?”

"There's some that are attracted to power," John shrugged. "But I imagine you're far too busy."

“I have an irregular schedule, yes,” Mycroft admitted as the lift doors opened, and he gestured to his flat, “But there are times when I can hear the sounds of my life echo off the walls. Quite literally. It is so silent, even the act of slipping off my shoes can echo back to me. If only I cared for carpet.” 

Mycroft shrugged, “I’ve adjusted; it’s always been this way. When we first met, I asked you how many friends you thought Sherlock had. I have even fewer.” He chuckled, “If you can imagine, growing up Sherlock was considered both the social one, and the moron.” 

"Sounds very lonely. I… didn't have a good upbringing. Uni and the army were my escape."

“I’m not sure I can be lonely if there has never been an alternative,” Mycroft dismissed. “But you, John, you are a marvel. You’ve always been exceptional; I’ve been watching you with interest since you first moved in with Sherlock. But to have an idea of what obstacles you’ve overcome, and still managed to be as clever, resourceful and loyal as you are? I believe the world could use far more John Watsons.”

Feeling that was a good lead-in to the reason he’d called John here today, he gestured to the sofa. “In that vein, I’ve the news you requested regarding your pup.”

John sat, watching Mycroft, heart loud in his own ears.  "And?"

“You gave birth to a healthy female pup. During her first year, testing determined she was an alpha, thus thankfully unsuitable to keep on site. She was abandoned at a local hospital in accordance with the-” here Mycroft paused. “The records and documents in evidence use the phrase ‘farm’ which seems both far too naïve and far too derogatory at the same time. I am inclined to call it a prison. What do you, or did you, call it?”

"We just called it the ranch," shrugged John. "So what happened to her?"  _ He had a daughter. _

Mycroft continued. “The ranch policy was to abandon infants who were not wanted by the alpha that sired them, nor did they have-” Mycroft gritted his teeth over the next words, “-profitable potential, at the hospital. The hospital would then turn the children over to the state’s social services.”

Mycroft turned to a file, and pulled out a photo of a small, squashed face blond baby with a toothless grin and handed it to John. “The pup was put up for adoption at four months; that’s her picture, there.” He hesitated to use words like “daughter” or “your pup” not knowing how John felt regarding his forced offspring.

John smiled softly at the photo. "She looks like me. Was she adopted?"

“She was. At five months she was adopted by a family, who had been wanting a child for years. She was their only child. The mother worked with special needs children and was thus able to give the girl, who they named Claire, the attention she needed to overcome the first few months of relative neglect. By all accounts, Claire grew up a normal child.” 

Mycroft held another picture in his hand, one of her on her tenth birthday. He looked at John, “I have more pictures and more information, but I don’t want to overwhelm you. I can continue, or we can discuss this more at a later date. It’s up to you.”

"Don't string me along Mycroft. Is she alive and well?" John needed to know, clutching the baby picture. 

“Oh, goodness, John, I apologise. I was so concerned as to whether or not you would find this all overwhelming that I neglected to realise my first statement should have been that the pup you birthed, Claire Stewart, is alive and well today.” Mycroft put his palm to face, “My sincerest apologies.”

"You were trying to soften the blow." John reached out and squeezed his hand. "It's okay. Does she know she was adopted?"

“Yes. There is more to that, but let’s just say yes for now, and I can talk you a bit through her childhood, if you’d like.”

"Whatever you think is best. Could… I get a drink? I do want to know about my daughter."

Mycroft jumped up. “Yes, of course. Tea, or something stronger?”

"Stronger please. And continue."

Before making his way to the bar, he handed John the photo he’d been keeping in his hand. “This is Claire at her tenth birthday party. She had taken a liking to Harry Potter apparently. Fancied herself a Hufflepuff. According to my records,” Mycroft poured three fingers of whiskey neat into one glass, and three fingers of bourbon neat into another, “She enjoyed rugby, writing stories about Harry Potter, and her favourite subject in school was social science.”

He brought the drinks over, handing one to John.

"She's adorable," said John. "I'm glad she had a good upbringing."

“A very non-descript upbringing. There were no notable traumas in her life beyond infancy, she was an average student, with average grades,” Mycroft passed over a more recent photo, where her alpha characteristics were showing much stronger than that had in the previous photos. “Her graduation photo.”

"Beautiful. So what else do I need to know?"

“She currently works as a crossing guard and lunch lady for a local elementary school. She’s interested in becoming a school counselor. However, currently, she’s working to support her bonded omega, and their two pups.”

John's hand went to his mouth. "I'm a grandmother?" Tears stung his eyes. He took a moment to gather his composure and cleared his throat. "What did you mean about her knowing her adoption?"

“When her omega, Julia, became pregnant, Claire went to her mother to ask about the circumstances of her adoption, to see if she could get any genetic family history. Her mother, at that time, decided Claire was old enough to know of the likely circumstances surrounding her birth.”

Mycroft took a deep breath, and swallowed the rest of his drink. “John, I received these photos directly from Claire’s mother.”

"So she wants to meet me?"

“She hasn’t told Claire yet. She wasn’t sure, nor was I, if you would want to meet her. You may be content to know she is healthy and well, with a family to love her. You may be content to know that despite the challenging start she had in life, she is, by all accounts, a typical adult. You can be assured that she is a loving and caring alpha to Julia and their twins. But I did not want you pressured, and she did not want to get Claire’s hopes up. You may even wish to wait a few months, or start with a letter.”

Mycroft smiled, “Perhaps you could start with just a link to your blog.”

John ran a hand through his hair. "I would like to meet her and her family. I'll write a letter. Do they live in Australia?"

“Yes. Helen Stewart, Claire’s mother, gave me her address, preferring that if you do want to contact them, that she be able to discuss it with Claire first.”

"Of course. May I write a letter now?"

“Be my guest,” Mycroft offered, standing and going over to the secretary desk in the corner to pull out several sheets of paper and a few pens. He handed them to John, “I’ll retire to my office to give you some time to yourself. When you are ready, I’ll be in the second room on the left down that hallway.” He pointed, then said, “And feel free to refill your drink as necessary.”

“Thank you.”

John watched him go, then took a deep breath and sat at the secretary. He realized the air here smelled like Mycroft and it was oddly comforting, even fortifying. What did you say to a child you were forced abandon almost twenty years before? John’s tongue stuck to the corner of his mouth and he dove in, introducing himself, talking a bit about his current life, his life in the army and mostly skimming anything before that.

_ Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done _ _,_ he wrote _. And it’s my greatest relief that you are both alive and well. I know you got a far better upbringing than I could have given you at the time, even had my circumstances been different. It would be my honor to meet you and your family, and I’ll answer any questions you might have. _

Signing the letter, John put the pen down and rubbed his temples. He quickly read it over again and folded it up. Then it would be up to Helen, he supposed. Still, it was like a weight he’d forgotten he was carrying had been lifted from his shoulders. Getting up, he made tea for the two of them and headed down the hall to knock on Mycroft’s door.

“Come on in,” Mycroft called from inside the room. He sat on a leather sofa in his waistcoat, jacket discarded onto his chair, and his feet propped up on the coffee table. “What can I do for you?”

“The letter is on your secretary, if you could send it.” He handed over the cup of tea and sat on the other end of the sofa. “And I wanted to say thank you. This is the greatest thing you could have possibly done for me. While I’ve tried to block out and forget that point in my life, I don’t have Sherlock’s ability to simply forget, and I’ve wondered about my pup from time to time.” He sipped his own tea. “I never even got to hold her. I heard her cry and knew she’d been born alive, but that was the only glimpse I ever had of them. Didn’t even know the pup was a girl until now. It was while recovering from the birth that I made my escape.”

“You astound me, John,” Mycroft looked at him with affection, “And I am glad to have been of assistance to you. Though I must say, at this point, I’m no longer sure whether to apologise for suspecting you of foul play.” He looked down at the tablet in his hands, “At this point, we’ve arrested nearly 600 people worldwide, and liberated nearly 2000 omegas who were enslaved. And it could not have been done, John, without you.”


	4. Chapter 4

John put down his tea and scooted a little closer, taking Mycroft’s hand. “I’m beginning to be glad we ended up here. It smells like you, here, and I’m not afraid,” he smiled at him.

Mycroft blinked with surprise, but recovered smoothly, closing his fingers around John’s palm. “I was worried that I had irreparably damaged our relationship. I’m actually pleased you’ve deigned to see me at all.” He couldn’t quite meet John’s eyes, but looked instead at their hands.

John smiled softly and cupped his cheek with his free hand. “It’s okay, Mycroft. I understand. And look how well everything is working out.”

Mycroft put his hand over John’s, then wrapped his fingers around John’s, pulling the back of his hand against his lips for a kiss.

John watched him, breath catching. When Mycroft released his hand, he leaned in to give him a proper kiss. For once he wanted to be touched, he wanted to be surrounded. He didn’t know if Mycroft would give it to him, but he had to try.

The touch of John’s lips against his was electric. Slowly, so that John could stop him at any time, he leaned into the kiss, running his hands up John’s thighs, then around to his back.

John moaned against him and shifted to straddle his lap. It wasn’t as if he’d never had sex; he just hadn’t had sex with any alphas. But he wanted this. He knew to the core of his being that Mycroft had no intent of hurting or using him.

A low, pleased chuckle echoed out of Mycroft’s throat as he wrapped his arms around John. He drifted one hand up to John’s neck, and the other down over the swell of his arse. He pulled John close, then worked soft kisses down to John’s neck. “John, you are delectable,” he commented, licking a stripe up John’s neck.

John groaned and rolled his hips. “I want you to take me,” he growled, angling his throat to give the alpha room.

Mycroft growled with pleasure, and nibbled tempting marks into the flesh laid bare in front of him. He slid his hands under John’s arse, and stood, carrying him as he scraped his teeth along John’s collar. “My bedroom acceptable, or would you prefer the guest?” he spoke against John’s shoulder. He knew John was nowhere near his heat, and that to question his ability to consent during an emotional time would only anger the omega. John knew what he wanted, and Mycroft was more than happy to give it to him.

“Your bedroom is fine. I like your scent.” John wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck, heart thudding in his chest. He didn’t just want Mycroft, he ached for him. All the longing he hadn’t wanted to admit was bubbling just beneath the surface.

Mycroft carried him to his room, his lips never leaving the sweet taste of John’s skin. When he reached the bed, he took one last bruising kiss before gently tossing John in the middle of the mattress. Mycroft bared his teeth in a lustful smile as he unbutton his waistcoat, then crawled onto the bed between John’s legs and hovered above him. He licked his lips as he looked down John’s body, then up back into his eyes. “How shall you have me?” he grinned, watching John’s reactions, cataloguing John’s hitched breathing, the look in his eyes.

Silently, John reached up and ran his hands up Mycroft’s still clothed chest. Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he sat up just enough to peel his jumper off and toss it aside, then started unbuttoning his own shirt, still meeting Mycroft’s gaze, the blue eyes blown dark and the scent of lust filling the air from both of them.

As John’s hands untucked his shirt, and work his way up his buttons, Mycroft dipped down, kissing each inch of flesh as it was unveiled. The scent of John under his shirt, the musk trapped close to his body, was intoxicating. Almost involuntarily, Mycroft found his hands wrapping around John’s waist, laving his tongue over John’s nipples as soon as John had undone enough buttons for him to reach.

Groaning, John spread his legs. “More,” he gasped, getting his shirt all the way open and running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair.

“Anything you want, John,” Mycroft mumbled against his chest, inhaling John’s scent, as he kissed up to the shell of John’s ear, then back down to where John’s abdomen met his jeans. He moaned indecently, and with the strength coursing through him, flipped them, so that John was above him, straddling him.

He tugged John down for a kiss, rolling his hips to shows John his interest, then pulling back, letting John take the lead should he choose.

Smiling, John started on Mycroft’s buttons. “You and those bloody suits and that bloody body and those bloody gorgeous eyes,” he said, resisting the temptation to just rip the shirt open and pop buttons.

“Let’s face it, John, you love the suits. I can only hope you find the body as appealing,” Mycroft teased with a smirk, running his hands up and down John’s thighs as he kept rolling his hips, feeling his cock grow and nestle in the crease of John’s arse. “You, on the other hand, are hiding such phenomenal goods under those clothes. I’ve rather thought of you as a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Mycroft ran his hands up John’s arms as high as he could reach, “and I see I was quite right.”

Meeting his smirk with one of his own, John pulled open the shirt, sending the last couple buttons flying. Before Mycroft could protest, John leaned down latched his teeth around one nipple, making him groan.

Mycroft arched up, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head, as he cried out. He’d always loved an aggressive lover, once of the reasons he so rarely slept with omegas. Even those who wanted to be aggressive were hesitant to express that with an alpha. He tugged at John’s hair, bringing him up to kiss him with a vicious delight, biting at his lip, then moaning hotly into John’s ear, “As rough as you want, John. I like you rough.”

John turned his head and caught Mycroft’s lower lip in his own teeth, raking his nails down Mycroft’s chest. His skin was so pale and soft, he would show every mark. And his reactions only told John all over again how correct he’d been in choosing Mycroft as his lover.

Shifting back, he licked and nipped his way down Mycroft’s chest, tasting the freckles, the sweat on his skin. It all felt perfect on his tongue and there was no hesitation as he reached Mycroft’s waistband and yanked open his belt, intent on tasting his cock.

The stripes John left down his front sent fire down down his spine and he felt the flare of red burning long after John’s nails had retreated. He felt the cool air hit his cock before he even realised John had opened his trousers, and the competing sensations sent forth a shock wave of bliss from his navel, radiating out like a star. He threaded his fingers through John’s hair, not pressing or pulling, just grounding himself through touch.

John rest his hands on Mycroft’s thighs. “Breathe,” he reminded him before wrapping his mouth around the head of his large cock. It was perfect, his brain buzzing with the heady scent of him. He knew he was making Mycroft Holmes fall apart and it was as thrilling as he’d hoped it would be. John’s thighs were damp as he bobbed his head, letting go of one thigh to open his own jeans.

John took what he wanted, needing no encouragement, and Mycroft growled despite himself. His body sometimes fought being dominated, his instinct furious, but it made his experience all the more arousing, controlling himself whilst being controlled. He held down his hips to the bed, letting John set his pace, fisting his hands into the sheets.

Knowing John would be the last to care, he requested through gulping breaths, “Should you wish- John- mark me. Everywhere- anywhere- the suit- covers.”

John lifted his head and nodded, dropping his head this time over Mycroft’s bare hip, sucking a mark into the skin as he fondled the alpha’s heavy balls, enjoying the little gasps of pleasure Mycroft couldn’t help escaping.

Mycroft spread his thighs widely, opening himself to John’s administrations. He traced a fingertip over John’s ear, moaning as John nipped bruises on the insides of his thighs. “Oh, John,” he whispered deeply, “Phenomenal, John. So perfect.”

John grinned and yanked Mycroft’s trousers and pants the rest of the way off, before removing his own. “Lube, Mycroft?” he asked, kneeling between Mycroft’s thighs and reaching back to finger himself with a wicked smile on his face.

“For me, or for you?”

John paused, caught off guard. “You want me to fuck you?” he asked, taking in the gorgeous body below him. He’d never known any alpha that would want that. Not that Mycroft Holmes was like any other alpha he’d known.

“If you wish,” Mycroft began, as he ghosted his fingers over his cock with a moan, “I find it a rather enjoyable experience. But it requires a different lubricant; as it happens, I have both. I leave the decision to you.”

John bit his lip, pondering. “I’m not sure I have the proper blood supply to my brain to make that kind of decision,” he said after a few moments.

Mycroft grinned, “Then if you have no objections, I’d quite like you to fuck me. As you can imagine, it’s not something in which I can regularly indulge.” He rolled to the side of the bed, pulling out a small, mostly full bottle of lubricant with a red cap. He offered it to John, looking up with a dark, seductive smile, “If you’d like, that is.”  

John took it, pushed up Mycroft’s knees and licked a stripe against his rim. He held Mycroft in place as he went to work, licking and teasing, tongue darting in and out, determined to make the man a writhing mess before he ever got a finger inside of him.

Mycroft jumped at the touch of John’s tongue and whimpered as John taunted him; his entire body broke out in goose flesh. It’d been years since he’d gotten this sort of attention, and he could already feel his cock begin to leak onto his belly. He tried to moan John’s name, but it caught in his throat with a whine.

Smiling against his skin, John thrust his tongue a few more times before biting the soft flesh of Mycroft’s thigh. He knew he had a much smaller cock than the alpha, but it was pretty decent size for an omega. He slicked himself and his fingers and pressed in two fingers, testing, crooking them to find Mycroft’s prostate.

Mycroft howled, ecstatic, and immediately begged, “More, John,” lest John think his outburst was the result of anything other than the deepest gratification. Frantically, he reached behind himself, pulling a pillow from the side of the bed, and attempted to tuck it beneath the small of his back to optimize his position.

John thrust his fingers a few more times, watching Mycroft shake before taking pity on him and slicking his cock, moving up to thrust into him, aware of the thick alpha cock leaving a sticky trail on his belly.

As John pushed into him, Mycroft exhaled deeply, a far-away smile of satisfaction on his face. There was nothing more intimate, more erotic than being filled, and Mycroft understood simultaneously why omegas craved it and despised it. John felt deliciously immense, and Mycroft tilted his hips, his knees nearly down to his chest.

“You’re the only one for me, Mycroft, do you know that?” breathed John against his skin as he peppered Mycroft’s chest with kisses and bites. He felt so good surrounded by Mycroft in every way.

With John leaning in close, Mycroft wrapped his legs around John’s hips, and his arms around John’s shoulders. “I’ve wanted no on else, since I first scented you in that warehouse and you were so fiercely defiant.”  He pressed against John’s back with his calves, forcing the omega in deeper. “Have you ever fucked an alpha, John?” he gasped in John’s ear, “Have you ever been inside an alpha as you compelled them to knot? Watched them come, again and again, soaking themselves in their own ejaculate? Felt the way their body spasms as they climax, gripping you, craving you, open, vulnerable, filthy?”  

“Fuck,” growled John. He grabbed Mycroft’s jaw and kissed him hard, rutting wildly into him, just needing to come and needing him to come and wanting to be covered in both their scents.

Mycroft kissed back desperately, grabbing one of John’s hands, and pushing it down to where his knot was beginning to swell. “Tightly,” he groaned into John’s mouth, wrapping their hands around the base of his cock as it grew. “And _harder_.”

John squeezed his knot with one hand, the other one yanking Mycroft’s hair, forcing his head back as he bit and licked and sucked on his collarbone, driving hard into him with a desperate groan, feeling the alpha tighten around him.

Mycroft growled viciously as John marked him, biting hard, and he had barely enough time to snarl, “Yes, John, _more_ ,” before his first orgasm hit, splashing him with hot stripes from chin to navel. He held his knot even more tightly, wave after wave overcoming him, John fucking into him hard, his eyes pinned shut as he rode out the increasing rapture.

“Christ,” moaned John. He gave a few thrusts and came hard himself, panting, bending his head to lick up the hot streams of come, wanting to almost roll in it and cover himself in the scent.

The warmth of John’s tongue against his chest brought him back to the moment, and Mycroft looked down to watch John lap at his come. His inner alpha roared, and he gasped at the sight. He felt his ejaculate start to drip down his sides, and he ran his fingers through the mess, beginning to massage the scent into John’s back. He dipped his fingers into his come again, this time, letting his fingers drift past the small of John’s back, over the curve of his arse, and circled John’s rim softly before plunging his come drenched fingers into John’s arse.  

John gasped and his cock slipped free. He wriggled farther up Mycroft’s chest, smearing the come against his own body and tilting his arse to give Mycroft more room, cock already twitching again with interest in a way it usually didn’t outside of heat.

Mycroft unfolded his legs, holding John in place as he vaulted them upwards to sitting. He buried his face in John’s neck, nibbling to avoid a more crucial bite. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from slicking his fingers in come, stuffing John full, over and over again, finding himself able to add a third finger rather quickly, as John’s own lubrication began to ease his way.

He was tempted to murmur into John’s neck a chorus of ‘mines’, but acting cautiously he instead offered a similar sentiment. “Yours,” he muttered against John’s skin, “yours.”

John moaned and writhed against his fingers. “And I’m yours,” he panted. “God, Mycroft, I want you to fuck me, knot me, bite me.” He knew what he was saying, and he knew it was all true.

Mycroft growled, then he calmed himself, “Give me some time to recover, and I will fuck you beautifully.” He stroked a hand down John’s back, “And if you decide to come to me for your heat, I shall knot you, bite you, mate you, and anything else your heart desires.”

“I look forward to it,” he panted, tucking his head into the crook of Mycroft’s shoulder.

Mycroft held John until the discomfort overrode his instinct, and he sighed against John. “I need a shower. Would you care to join me?”

“I’d like that.” He leaned up and kissed him again. “Though I do like being covered in your scent. Sherlock is going to sulk when I get home.”

“Let him sulk,” Mycroft laughed, then looked at John in his lap. With a soft voice, he asked, “May I carry you?”

John smiled and nodded. “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

Mycroft mailed the letter the following day, and obsessively checked the post each day, though logically, he knew if the Stewarts responded the same day they’d received the letter, it would be at least a full twelve days before a response was received. When twelve days came and went, Mycroft’s concern grew, and he watched as John grew more anxious waiting for news. 

It was both a blessing and a curse, when, two days before John’s heat was to begin, Mycroft received a letter postmarked from Australia. The return address was for Claire’s mother, Helen, which might be irrelevant, but could also indicate that once faced with the reality of her birth, Claire refused to initiate a relationship with John. The envelope was heavily padded, and Mycroft suspected that whatever the outcomes, there were likely a stack of photos involved. He texted John a simple <It’s here. MH> when the thick letter arrived, knowing the vague wording would at least stall Sherlock long enough for John to arrive at his flat, even if he should see the message first. 

John made it to Mycroft’s flat in record time. They been intimate a few more times in the last two weeks, and John was fairly certain that if Sherlock rolled his eyes at them any more often, they’d stick that way. But he knew his own mind and Mycroft knew his and despite, or because of, everything, he knew exactly where he’d be spending his next heat. Sherlock still had plans to go out of the city though.

Swallowing back his nervousness, John let himself into the flat. “Mycroft?” he called.

“In the study,” Mycroft called out. He hadn’t quite expected John so soon, and he was still pouring their drinks to have on hand. John appeared suddenly at the door, and Mycroft could feel his anxiety seep through the room. He went over to John, embracing him, allowing John to take deep, calming breaths of his scent. When John at least seemed to breathing a bit more normally, he let go, and gestured to the table where the envelope lay, unopened. 

“I’ve poured you a drink. Shall we?”

“Yes.” John sat, took a sip, and pulled the envelope to him. He opened it with shaking hands and poured the contents onto the table.

It was mostly pictures, and John smiled as he saw there were pictures of Claire and her family. “I’m a twin,” he told Mycroft, absently looking at the two identical girls. Finally he took out the letter and read it carefully. He nodded, half to himself. “She’d like to write me more, asked for photographs. Not ruling out a meeting, but wants to take time. It’s good, Mycroft.”

Mycroft smiled, relieved. “I’m glad, John. The twin, your sister Harriet, I presume?”

“Harry, yeah.” John sat back. “I heard she was doing better.”

“It’s been some time since you’ve spoken with her?” Mycroft asked, then gestured to the pictures, “May I?”

"Of course. And did you read my records? I think maybe you'd understand." He sighed, "She presented Alpha."

“I only glanced at what was necessary to find information about Claire. The rest is for you to choose. I can read the file if you want me know, but don’t feel comfortable telling me. Or I can leave it locked away if you’d rather,” Mycroft shrugged, trying to make it clear he would respect John’s decision either way. “But may I ask how her presentation affected you?”

"Dad hit me more and her less," he shrugged. 

“That’s atypical,“ Mycroft noted, “Alpha are notorious for fighting amongst family. I was cuffed more than once in the months after I presented, until I learned how better to control myself. I’m sorry your father left so much to be desired.”

"He sold me to a breeding farm, wasn't exactly father of the year," said John, looking at the photos. "Harry all but stopped coming home once she turned seventeen. Dad expected me to keep house, barely let me stay in school. Guess he needed money more then my cooking ‘cause he sold me not long after I graduated. I just woke up a captive." 

“Do you know what has become of him?” Mycroft, half hoping to find the man and torture him in the darkest, dankest holes in London. 

"He died about ten years ago. It's just me and Harry now. And when she drinks she can be almost as bad as him."

“If you wish, I can accompany you. If you want to see her, that is,” Mycroft offered. He paused, looking at the pictures. “She’s lovely, Claire. The pups too.”

"Yeah. Blonde like me and Harry." He got up and snuggled in close to Mycroft on the sofa. "Do you really want to know what happened to me? I've never told anyone, but I could tell you."

Mycroft put an arm around him, letting John scent him. “I’d be honored, John, if you chose to do so.”

John wondered where he should start. "I always took my heats in a local safe house. One day, with my heat close, I was caught in an alley. I fought, of course, but they hit me with a tranquiliser. They must have kept me under for the trip because the next thing I remembered was waking up naked and handcuffed to a bed. And someone had already used me."

Mycroft burned protectively, and the hand on his knee gripped it tightly, but stroked John’s arm tenderly with the other. 

"I pretty quickly met Tom. I had my heat and then, once they learned I'd caught, they let me socialise a bit with the other omegas. Some of them had been there for years. I knew I had to escape, somehow, but as my pregnancy progressed, I was watched too closely to try. And Tom visited me pretty frequently."

Mycroft knew his pheromones were on overdrive, but there was nothing he could do to quell the rising fury of knowing someone had so cruelly brutalised the man he loved. Instead, he tried to find a neutral question to keep from frightening John, “The omegas you met; did you become friends? I could try to find out about particular individuals if you’d like.”

John nuzzled his neck, trying to calm him. "I'm okay," he murmured. "And no. The older ones were cowed and barely spoke. The only other one close to my age, I don't recall her name."

Mycroft took a few deep breaths, amazed that John’s scent could be so calm during this discussion. He felt the edge of his rage soften, and he kissed the top of John’s head softly. “I apologise.”

"It's okay. I'm glad you care so deeply." It made him feel safe. This wasn't his father's rage that swelled like a flood and covered all in his path. The was more like lightning. Or a carefully guided weapon that would only harm its intended target. 

Mycroft took in one last deep inhalation before pulling back. “And how are you now? This last month must have taken its toll on you.”

“Better. You help,” John confessed, then continued his story. “After I gave birth, I was put in a special area to recover. It wasn’t closely watched because they assumed we’d be too weak to run. But I did.”

Mycroft gave a small smile, and quoted himself, “The bravery of the soldier.” He shook his head to clear the nostalgia, and asked, “How did you get back to England?”

John looked at his hands. “I managed to hitchhike to Sydney. Sold myself until I got enough money to buy a ticket back to the UK.”

A protective, jealous instinct roared in his chest, but Mycroft held himself firmly. He slid his fingers between John’s. “You are a marvel, John, and if you let me, I shall spend my days trying to care for you in the way you deserved to be cared for. The way you have always deserved, and rarely received.” 

John looked up and met his eyes. “Would you make love to me?”

“Whenever you ask, whenever you’d like,” Mycroft offered up a promise he very much intended to keep, caressing John’s jaw with his thumb. He leaned in for a kiss, starting soft but letting his passion rise, some small amount of the possessive instinct to slip in, and he gave a low, non-threatening growl. 

John found himself moaning softly. “Yes. Please. I’m safe with you.”

“I’d stop at nothing to protect you, John,” Mycroft let himself feel a bit more, his alpha preening at John’s warmth in his arms, craving to hold on. He still restrained himself; he wanted John to feel fully comfortable. He’d watch John closely for any discomforts, but still he murmured in John’s ear as he pulled John onto his lap, “Tell me if you need me to stop, my wonder.”

“No. I want you to claim me, Mycroft Holmes. Make me yours.” It was true, John knew that perfectly. He’d never want anyone else.

Mycroft wrapped his arms around John, letting the pheromones blanket over them. John’s scent rose to compete and Mycroft growled again, this time closer the feral noise he might make if he let it all go; a noise he might perhaps make during John’s heat. 

A heat which was rapidly approaching.

“You’re-” Mycroft looked down into John’s eyes, heavily dilated, “Are you beginning your heat earlier, or is it always this strong?”

“I could be a little early. I’m not usually, but, timing.”

“Timing? The pheromones, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Mycroft restrained himself, leaning back, “I don’t wish to cause you any inconvenience. I know your schedule can be quite rigorous; if you’d like to leave now-” Mycroft couldn’t help the burst of possession that flavoured the air, but he stormed through it, “-to take care of the necessary affairs, I can wait.”

“Mycroft?” John turned to him. “My affairs can sort themselves. I want you to take me. I am going to go into your bedroom and strip naked for you. You make whatever calls you need to make and then you come in and do what you promised.”

A deep, predatory grin flashed across Mycroft’s face before he restrained himself to just looking pleased. Inside, he was desperate to follow John, to strip him naked himself, to pounce and mount and claim and mate. But he withheld himself, and with a lick of his lips, answered, “I shall be up momentarily.” He watched John as he left the room, then sent a single text to Anthea. 

Rushing, he pulled out the small rolling tea tray that was decoratively placed in the corner, and rummaged through the kitchen. He grabbed the bottles of water and the small, fortifying meals he’d prepared for John’s heat. On his way back to his room, he stopped at the linen closet, grabbing stacks of flannels and soft sheets. 

John stripped and crawled into bed. For maximum effect he posed on hands and knees, legs spread enticingly, slowly stroking his already hard cock and moaning softly

“I’ve fetched us-” Mycroft began, but stopped dead in his tracks. John was propped up on his bed, arse to the door, thighs already wet with slick, open, inviting, and Mycroft couldn’t have held himself back if he’d tried. He pawed at his waistcoat as he climbed onto the bed, licking the slick off the inside of John’s thighs before circling the rim of his arse, slick sweetly weeping onto his lips and down his chin as he did so. 

John keened and braced himself, surrendering to his omega instincts. He'd never allowed any alpha to touch him. But this, this was perfect. He knew he was loved and accepted and there was nothing else he wanted or needed. 

The waistcoat was easy enough to shed, but the shirt was too much. Mycroft yanked at it with one hand, buttons popping off, as he used the other spread John’s arse, making it that much easier for him to plunge his tongue into his omega. Once he wrestled the shirt off, he spread John open wide. John was dripping with slightly saccharine taste of omega sex, and Mycroft wanted all of it. 

"Yours. Alpha,” John moaned, reaching back to grab the shirt and bury his nose in it. He spread his legs a little wider. "When I get full in my heat..." he groaned. "Everything becomes a blur."

Mycroft growled, “John. Omega.  _ Mine _ ,” before pulling back and unzipping his trousers. He didn’t have time to take them off, and he pulled out his cock, sighing with relief. He pressed himself against John, his cock tucked into the cleft of his arse, and rutted against him. He draped over John, flush against his back, surrounding him, covering him, and nipped at his neck. “My wonder, my marvel, can I have you? Fill you, feel you hot and tight around me? Feel you tremble and shake with the most primal need? Wanting me? Craving me? Tell me, John. I need to hear you say it.”

"Yes. God, yes. Take me and claim me," he offered his throat. 

With a snarl, Mycroft pulled back, lining up his cock. He started slow, watching John open up beautifully for him, slick and tight, then snapped his hips to fill John full in one quick motion.

John cried out, surrendering willingly, feeling a need filled he'd tried to always ignore. "More," he moaned.

Mycroft lifted his right knee, placing his foot on the bed for better leverage, and fucked John hard, pulling out nearly as far as he could, then slamming his hips in as he pulled John onto his cock. The heat and warmth coursed through his body, sending his adrenaline pumping, his instinct into drive, and he swore he could feel the strength rising in his musculature.  

John moaned, dropping his head, falling into a more submissive stance, allowing Mycroft’s strength and scent to overwhelm him. This was nothing like before. Mycroft wasn’t seeking to simply cow him, to force him to submit. It was greater than that. He’d never considered having another pup, but in this moment, he could see it, and knew that Mycroft would be a good alpha to him and to their child. Closing his eyes, he rocked back against him, even as he gave himself over.

John’s display of submission was erotic, and Mycroft felt his knot begin to swell. John keened and whimpered beneath him, and Mycroft felt how his body was desperately trying to accommodate his growing girth.

Groaning, John could feel the drag of Mycroft’s trousers against his thighs. He panted, writhing a bit as he stretched to accommodate a fully aroused alpha. His mind was fuzzing out with the pleasure of it all.

Mycroft went back down to his knees, laying over John once more, and scraped his teeth over John’s throat, getting ready to claim him. He thrust in once more, shoving the fullness of his knot inside John and bursting inside of him. Simultaneously, he bit down hard on his omega’s neck, tasting the rush of blood and hormones on his tongue as he pulsed into John. He let one hand drift to John’s belly, feeling the bulge of his cock and the ejaculate now buried deep inside his omega.

John moaned and shook underneath him, coming just as hard. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Drifting them down to the side of bed, Mycroft lapped at the bite, and murmured, “It is I who should be thanking you, my wonder. My  _ mate _ .”

John smiled, sated and a bit sticky. “I never thought I’d ever want another alpha to touch me.”

Mycroft kissing him up and down his neck, his shoulders, his jaw, any inch of skin he could reach, “I’m honoured, John, truly. You are far more deserving than me.” He rubbed John’s belly, feeling the possessive instinct rise up again. “Are you...?” he asked.

“Am I what?”

“ _ Protected _ ,” Mycroft said, euphemistically. 

"if you're asking if I'm on birth control I'm not. Should I be?" Part of him wanted a child he could actually raise. If Mycroft didn't, then he'd abide by that.

Anticipation flared within him, and Mycroft palmed John’s belly, where a child might be before he could stop himself. He pressed a kiss to John’s head, “It’s fine. It’s- it’s your choice.”

"I'd like a chance to raise my own child. And I'd like to do that with you," said John honestly. 

“I would be delighted. Call it selfish, but I’ve always wanted to share my wisdom, my thoughts, to explore the world through the eyes my own child. It’s a desire I’d long since given up on.”

John turned his head and kissed him. "I love you."

Mycroft held John’s jaw as he kissed back deeply, then ran his teeth over the bite mark again as he pulled back. “And I, you,” he whispered in his ear. 

He settled back, holding on to John, and smiled as he remembered, “Oh, yes. I’ve got water, food, towels and the like by the door. I seem to have been distracted upon coming in.”

John chuckled. "Everything as it should be, then."

“As it should be, indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> John: [Janto321](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321) (on AO3), [Merindab](http://merindab.tumblr.com/) (on Tumblr)  
> Mycroft: PhiPiOhSum475 on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475), and on [Tumblr](http://phipiohsum475.tumblr.com/).


End file.
